Adventure Magazine Cover, November 10, 1924 — page 143: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

White Challenge cylinder accessory factories? Man, silliman- ite’s:a substitute for porcelain, unbreakable under stress of heat.” : “Well—” was all Drift could say, being somewhat out of his depth in a discussion of automotive industrial needs. ‘“Don’t stand: there like a blinking owl and ‘well’. me,’”’ shouted Melvin as if the other were deaf. ‘Seventy million spark plugs blazing away right now. Every year seventy million more; maybe twice. a year. They need sillimanite. How do I know? Because my _ twelve-thousand- dollar car had sillimanite plugs, and they cost three bucks apiece, and because the technical trade journals: say. the stuff must be found in commercial quantities to bring it im reach of the five-hundred-buckaroo car owner. I read. that while I was trying to get that gangling, decrepit factory on its feet with Fruit Growers. Bank money. “Drift, we’re made!” “Post yer claims,” returned: Drift, digging into Jenny Lind’s pack. “If we can’t trade this mounting in for ten million shares o’ flivver stock, we can at leas’ process the stuff into some nice chinyware to eat off of.” ye DRIFT’S voice trailed off as he 2 gazed into the depths of the cafion ley, and by which they had been about to depart it. A pack train of three burros was making its toilsome way up the defile. “T guess,” said Drift slowly, “we better post a discovery right now.” Melvin instantly caught. his’ partner’s meaning and swung astride his pony. “Post yer claim. on gold color,” admon- ished Drift, conveying claim. notices and stakes to Melvin. “Remember, it ain’t any use to deny yer after gold, so we al- ways admit that much.” Melvin was off in a cloud of dust, and Drift was left to employ himself with the ropes of a burro pack. Drift was ill taken with the strangers emerging from the cafion when: he finally looked: up at them. The taller of the two had a rodent cast to his face; the lesser had. seen. civilization too recently. They were young, and old pros- pectors distrust youth, unless it be garbed in Tuxedo. “Whatcha doin’ here?’ was the bald question of the larger man, a query fraught with some peril in the desert. by which they had entered the val-. 141 “T’m prospectin’ gold: young fella,” re- turned Drift. The old: man: could: smile in his: gentle: way,. but he had: not dwelt. upon the desert for thirty years to: become. the humble servant of any straying insolence: ‘‘Where’s) yer partner light out: to?” asked the smaller man, failing to read that smile. ae “My pardner?” Drift leaned: back against Jenny Lind’s flank and fingered his grizzly beard. ‘Well, now, that’s what you might call a question what’s hard: to answer. Out here in these parts we don’t ask much about where a man’s goin’, neither what he’s doin’. . Ye know—’ he accentuated his words with: a slight rhyth- mic move of his head— “I just plain— wouldn’ have—the guts—to ask my pard- ner—where he was a-goin’.”’ The significance of this sentence was not lost on the two, for their faces darkened suddenly, and the big man:-snapped: “Well, E would, old man.. ’Specially, since me an’ my partner has some sillimanite beds. up here an’ aims, to work ’em right soon.”’ Drift was. at pains to conceal.a smile: “T heered they was.a sillimanite lode up here,” he said innocently. ‘“The country rock don’t show it, but my pardner, now, he’s found a seam in place,, compass bear- ing of the course, north, northeast.” Drift chuckled inwardly. “None of yer smart-Alec stuff,” growled the big man. “None of yers!”’ said: Dmift in a staccato tone, lines on his leathern face deepening. ‘““My pardner’s made a sillimanite discovery. He says it’s wuth somethin’; I say it ain’t. But that’s none of yer business!’’ A gentle old man, willing always to fling out the white challenge to test guile; to give appearances another chance, Drift made short werk of bald-faced. evil. intent. “Tt ain’t, huh?” snarled: the big man: ““Y¥ ou’ll —— soon find: out. Stick up them mitts!” Drift found himself gazing: into the muz- zle of an automatic, but he was not unrea- sonably alarmed. The muzzle of an auto- matic has an air of finality in dark city streets, but the man.:who faces one on the desert is as frequently the winner as_ the loser. More complicated: forces play,. the event is less crowded by time, less bound to hard ritual. Drift knew: this. He: slowly acceded to the command.” . CoOMmicbhool< ) C© 5}